


An eventful series of events

by cyberpunk_trASH



Series: Schlatt, Will and the apocalypse [2]
Category: Video Blogging RPF, Wilbur Soot - Fandom, smp earth
Genre: 4th wall breaks lol, Fluff and Crack, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Jealousy, Multi, but i don't make fun of the british as much, crackfic, i'm still french, minx really loves niki, schlattbur - Freeform, she fluffy, uwu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:47:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24447559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyberpunk_trASH/pseuds/cyberpunk_trASH
Summary: (This is a sequel to Knight in Shining Armor but you can read it on its own I think)In which I still make fun of Britain, but not as much.None of them is really upset about the zombies, and the dying, it's rather that they seem to be stuck with the biggest dumbasses is the whole wide world in a town called Little Arsington, forever, because evryone else is dead. Except for the queen of England.
Relationships: Jschlatt & Wilbur Soot, Minx & Niki
Series: Schlatt, Will and the apocalypse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1765687
Comments: 9
Kudos: 43





	An eventful series of events

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously what am I doing with my life. I really enjoy writing these tho, let me know if you like it, and I 'll make yet another sequel instead of finishing Flashover's chapter 3.

Getting out of London proved considerably harder than they thought it would be. Especially because it was the one day of summer in which the British weather didn’t suck major ass. 

So obviously, every single one of the city’s inhabitants knew that it was THE moment to leave the house and have an actual reason to comment on the weather.  
Except, well, they were all dead, but they walked, and the frustration of not being able to utter a “nice wearher, innit?” was enough to make them more murderous than normal zombies and normal Londoners combined. 

And because the author has not written fight scenes, he wants to spare the readers the painful experience that would be his miserable attempts. On a second thought, no, he doesn’t. 

There was a lot of beheading, done by Schlatt’s sword. Wilbur contented himself with a little telescope swing here or there.  
Considerable amounts of blood, many moments in which Schlatt wished he had taken a piss before putting the armor on and lots of “I’m glad to have been your… uh… friend…” from both parties because honestly they would’ve died if Wilbur hadn’t shouted:

“LOOK, IT’S THE QUEEN” when they were surrounded for good and vigorously shaking each other’s hands for no particular reason. There was quite a lot more of beheading in that moment of distraction, and they fled.  
This was not a strategic brilliance on Soot’s part; it was a very vivid fear-induced hallucination. It is a very little known fact that every time a Brit feels their life is threatened, they see the queen. 

They choose not to disclose this information as to not evoke mockery in other fellow compatriots, not knowing that each and every one of them shares this particularity. This will go on forever. No one will ever come to register this. 

But enough of this. Point is, they are not in London anymore. 

-‘Little Arsington? Seriously?’- asks Schlatt, visibly ready to behead the sign indicating the small town’s name

Wilbur laughs, which would’ve usually made the considerable part of his audience who’d simp for him in a heartbeat go “awwwWWW” then proceed to keymash, but now he’s covered in blood so he just looks like a bloody (haha get it) maniac. 

Schlatt waits for a plausible explanation to the town’s name, which Wilbur doesn’t have because that’s just how British towns are named. 

-‘I told you I knew somewhere we could stay’- says the maniac e-boy –‘there’s ten inhabitants and four pigs at best’- Schlatt shakes his head in disapproval with a faint smile on his lips. Wilbur can’t see the smile. Perks of wearing armors. 

And Wilbur’s not really wrong. Little Arsington is at least ten kilometers away from any other populated area, surrounded by mildly tall hills and mountains, and totally not fictional. 

Schlatt realizes people might think he’s Swaggersouls so he removes his armor as quickly as an Italian man will steal your wife if you leave him unwatched.

-‘Wait, what if we get attacked?’- asks Wilbur while Schlatt is still busy removing his greaves and gauntlets

-‘Unless you’re scared of zombie pigs, I don’t think you need to worry, my dude’ 

-‘Why, Sir Schlatt of Arsington, I am henceforth compelled to declare, I am, in fact, terrified of zombie pigs’

-‘Shut the fuck up Willington’- says Schlatt with a smile that this time around, Wilbur can see, and he walks to sit down before the first little house’s doorstep, leaving his armor and sword beside him. Will quickly follows in his steps. 

Both exhausted men observe the village, secretly scanning it for zombie pigs. Finding none, they feel more relieved and breathe out all the tension they’ve accumulated in their rough walk from London to Arsington. 

The highway was full of dead people, walking ones and still ones. 

-Nice weather, right? No clouds at—Wilbur has to stop dead. Not like he can’t just keep going, but Schlatt has just casually placed his hand on Wilbur’s, and his virgin brain is trying to process how to react. 

Unfortunately, suiting_reaction.exe was never in Wilbur’s brain to begin with, so he just looks the other way trying not to blush too much before he remembers he’s covered in blood anyways. 

Of course, Schlatt hasn’t got a clue of why Wilbur just suddenly stopped talking about the weather, and although he feels tempted to raise both his arms in victory, he says, playfully concerned:

-‘I appreciate you sparing me the weather talk, but are you ok?’

-‘Oh, fuck off, I never talk about the weather’- says Wilbur, holding back laughter

-‘You just did, Wilbur’

-‘Well, I was considerate with you, I stopped’

-‘It might be the sexiest shit you’ve ever done in your life’- says Schlatt trying to sound dead serious, and at this point he was going to try and jokingly grab Wilbur’s hand only to realize he’s already doing it.  
Well shit. When did he even do that? He looks at Will, who is furiously blushing and laughing in disbelief, trying to form sentences that he doesn’t really finish.

Before Schlatt has time to start feeling all warm and confused and all that sort of shit that tends to happen in fanfics, the sort of things like mpreg, Schlatt thinks, and judgingly looks at the author- they hear a voice from above. 

-‘Oi, ye cunts, fuck off my turf before I blow your brains’- it’s a woman speaking, and she’s standing on the roof of the house opposite them, holding what looks like a soviet caliber rifle. How she got there and why she’s made such a logistically poor choice, no one knows. 

She’s a redhead, with long wavy hair falling on her shoulders. Her makeup is well done despite seeming like she could bite someone’s testicles off in a heartbeat to claim her territory. She’s pretty. 

-‘A girl!’- says Wilbur, in moderate awe. Thanks, captain obvious. 

-‘Fuck, she’s Irish’- says Schlatt, not so in awe. Thanks, captain obvious.

-‘What, you want me to force you to repopulate?’- says the Irishwoman, taking aim

Before they can move, the door whose house has a mad woman on its roof opens, and a blonde girl with tidy eyeliner and a kind smile opens the door.  
She seems quite worried that there is a woman with a Kalashnikov on her roof, so she turns around to look at her. 

-‘Minx, thank you for caring about my safety, but maybe there’s no need to be rude to them’- she says in a soft and kind voice, with an equally soft German accent. So she wasn’t worrying about the rifle. She was worrying about the rudeness. 

Not even two days of apocalypse and everyone’s already gone batshit, thinks Schlatt, reaching for the sword handle.  
Wow, another girl, thinks Wilbur, definitely more bi than Schlatt.  
Minx’s expression softens a bit, but she’s still aiming the rifle right at their heads. 

-‘I’m so sorry Nikki but I don’t want the twinks to stay’- she spits out angrily –‘in our village’

-‘I’m going to impale your girlfriend with a sword if you do as much as put your finger near the trigger’- replies Schlatt, because no one calls him a twink as long as Wilbur Soot is alive. He doesn’t really think about his word choice there. 

The one called Nikki is still smiling awkwardly as if that will deter any of them from making further death threats. 

-‘Aren’t death threats a bit too much, guys?’- she tries. God she’s so cute. And fluffy. 

The sun is finally setting on the tiresome day, but Minx and Schlatt are still fighting. Schlatt is currently pointing his sword at her, making empty threats, and she’s cursing like mad.  
Wilbur and Nikki are sat on a bench, watching it, making bets. 

-‘You think she’s gonna threaten to shove her rifle up his ass without lube again?’- Will says, half concerned, half amused, half a-weird-feeling-he-cannot-identify-but-that-every-reader-knows-is-jealousy. 

The author will not disclose if the “again” at the end of Wilbur’s sentence meant that she had performed that act and would threaten to repeat it or if she had simply threatened that once and Wilbur thought she might reuse it.  
On a second thought, the author might disclose this information if prompted by a kind enough comment.

Nikki chuckles (so cute) –‘no, I think she’s getting tired. They might be done in an hour if we get lucky’

Wilbur falls silent and thinks about hot pockets for about ten minutes. Then he thinks about how he’d like to help Schlatt fight the Irish gremlin, and then make him tea and forget about Little Arsington forever.  
Because Schlatt is literally fighting over a village called Little Arsington, while he’s chatting with a German ball of fluff that he thought he wanted to shag but is literally too pure and fluffy to ever be stained by a man’s hand.

-‘You ever get a little jealous when your girlfriend fights with people that aren’t you?’- trying to NOT make it sound like he has daddy issues, because that is DEFENITELY NOT what is happening. 

Nikki violently blushes and covers her face –‘S-she’s not my girlfriend’- she says, flustered, confirming that Nikki is an irl anime girl

Wilbur makes a great effort not to mention that they literally French kissed two hours ago in front of them, and instead says –‘yeah, he’s not my boyfriend either’- and looks all tsundere-ish, confirming that Wilbur is also an IRL anime girl. 

Nikki, deep down in her soul, wants to say “I literally did not fucking ask, you actual cumhole”, but instead she says –‘you look cute together though’- and she keeps smiling. 

-‘The most threatening thing you have done in the two hours we’ve been here has been calling me a twink, and that’s threatening to your life because for that I’m gonna end it’- says Schlatt, swinging his sword at Minx

-‘Fuck off, you’re gay’- she says, looking pouty. And Schlatt is so fucking devastated that his secret has been revealed that he feels compelled to:

-‘No u’- and just like that Minx’s whole life is destroyed. 

They look at Wilbur and Nikki on the bench, then at each other, and silently nod in acknowledgment.

The sun sets over the rural houses of Little Arsington, and only in one of them torches have been lit. All the other villagers were killed by Minx when they became zombies.  
Four people sit around the small wooden table, some in distrust, some loudly slurping tea, some still smiling. 

It looks like this is going to have a somewhat cozy ending, but no, echoing across the house, there is a noise. Oink. Oink Oink.  
They all get up and hurry to the entrance. A zombie pig, Sir Willington & Co.-- it appears this is. A fucking zombie pig.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to tell me what you liked and what you didn't. I'm a slut for feedback.


End file.
